THE PILGRIMAGE - an epic 30 postings travelogue of a sinner dressed as a pilgrim

You must forgive me. I did not plan to procrastinate so, but between my work and my play, my friends and my family, I have had little time to organise this almanac. But since arriving home from Singapore late Sunday night, I was committed to set up a page about the pilgrimage (umrah haj) I undertook in 2011. You can get there by simply Clicking Here, or going to the astutely named 'THE PILGRIMAGE' on the pages list on the right hand column of the blog.

There is enough to read and see in the thirty specific postings listed in that page, so I shan't trouble you with too many words here.

God bless you!

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way 

COMMERCE & SPIRITUALITY - Between the enjoyment of consuming, and the happiness of giving and sharing...

Abbot: Mine is made in China. What about yours?
Muslim Dude: Golly! Even my 'little Kaaba' is made in China.

Holy Days and Holy Wastes

Romantic love rules the airwaves,

Anniversaries and Valentine’s Day,

Motherly love rules on Mother’s Day,

Fatherly love rules on Father’s Day,

Friendly love rules on Birthdays,

And thankfully... Godly love is celebrated

On the His Holy Days, 

But every day the love is ruined

By over-commercialization

And exploitation, the message

Lost in a morass of holy waste

And religious haze.

……………….

COMMERCE AND SPIRITUALITY. Actually, even before the Prophethood of Muhammad (pbuh), commerce and religion has always been intertwined. You need only visit the Muslim holy cities of Mecca and Medina, to see pilgrim-tourist businesses thriving along the Masjid Nabawi and the Masjidil Haram. And Jerusalem too, the shared holy city for the Jews, Christians and Muslims. Everywhere you can find faux relics of saints and prophets, the Hand of Fatima, the Turkish Ward against the Evil Eye and all sorts of rosaries, tasbihs, clay and china figurines of the Virgin Mother, Verses of the Quran and Bible framed and sometimes etched on sheep skin, miniature little Kaabas, whirling Mehlevi dervishes and etc. The beauty (or crassness, let’s be honest here) of the spiritual souveniers is only limited by the imagination of the artist or the prolific factories in China, where all these religious bric-a-bracs appear to come from.

Jerusalem, present day. This procession of the Christian Nuns
have been going on for the longest time.

SPECIAL ……… (insert your religious festival here)……. PROMOTION! So I am going to be realistic and not proceed to condemn the commercialization of religious holidays and festivities. But like all things in life… it ought to be done in a measured and sensible level. There was once a time in Malaysia, when the Muslims tend to scorn the commercial exploitation of Christmas – you know, all that glittering Christmas trees, Santas and Santarinas on hire, and the give-your-loved-ones-Xmas-presents-though-you-will-max-your-credit-card kinda promotional ethos of the big super malls of Malaysia (oh yes. We have them aplenty). But now, alas, I do not really see that much difference between the Muslims and Christians. Muslims too can be guilty of unparalleled consumerism during the Eidul Fitri celebrations - New curtains, new sofas, new cellphones, new laptops, new TVs and even new cars sometimes.

Jerusalem, 1915. The last recorded procession of the Ottoman's
Feast for the Prophet Moses. 

A FINE BALANCE. And I shan’t be a party-pooper or Mr. Killjoy. After all, we are not saints. Nor are we Christian, Hindu, Buddhist or Sufi hermits. But I think there must be a fine balance we can strive towards... between self-gratification and philanthropy, between the enjoyment of consuming and the happiness of giving and sharing. 

CONCLUSION. Whether you are a Muslim or Christian (or Jew, Hindu, Punjabi, Wiccan… etc), I think we shall all benefit from focusing more on the giving bit, rather than the consuming bit. And the first 'giving' flavor for the day? - Let us give each other, of whatever race or faith we may be, the benefit of the doubt. The benefit of our tolerance and understanding. The benefit of our compassion and mercy.  And I do not think we need a special day or event to to give voice to such humanity. Not when we are aware that everyday is a blessed day from God... 24 never-to-be-gained-again hours especially created for you and for me.

Don’t you agree, sunshine?

wa min Allah at-taufiq

Hate has no place in Islam

Love will show the Way

Chi-Kit Teck Aun - We get this problem sometimes...

Greeting, seekers. The sinner is down with a stomach bug. Perhaps there is no sight more humbling than that of yourself shuffling in and out of the washroom in the middle of the night. I have been asleep most of the day, gratefully saved by the chinese traditional medicine 'Chi-Kit Teck Aun', a long held cure for diarrhoea.

I have a few packets with me because I brought some along during my pilgrimage. As life sometimes does, I was surprised by being in tip-top health, nay a headache, a flu or even a cold during the 2 weeks sojourn in Jerusalem, Medina and Mecca.

I would like to share something profound with you today, but my brain is still reeling. The only thing I observed is that my son refused to leave me alone all day. Even when I am just sleeping. I guess that is quite sweet of him.

wa min Allah at-taufiq

The Perfume of the Angel of Death and a Night of Dread- Umrah Pilgrimage Part 26

However I tried Photoshop-ing this picture, I still look fat.
Then a disembodied voice whispered, "Try going on diet."

This is a continuation of my report on my Umrah Pilgrimage which took me to Jerusalem, Medina and Mecca in end March to early April this year. My last posting was about food on 22nd July 2011 entitled Dead Camel and Dhab Lizard, Guava and Zam-Zam - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 25 (Click Here). The journal continues on Wednesday, 30th March 2011.

PERFUME OF DEATH. There are a couple of things which is mandatory to be purchased in Mecca, and one of them is perfume. It can be very, very cheap or extremely expensive. I was at one particular stall when I saw a man sniffing away, and pleasurably commented, "Hmm, very nice, Haji..." To which the proprietor said, "Yaa... masyaAllah, this is scent is called the Malaikat Subuh (Angel of Dawn)!" The man then asked, "Good, good... but do you have perfume of the Malaikatulmaut (Angel of Death)?" The old shopkeeper looked offended and did not reply, although in his face I could see his thoughts... "Crazy, crazy Malaysians."

Journal extract

Talking about crazy Malaysians... During one of the many times we chilled in Mecca, a friend confided in me his night of dread - My friend is a particular man with a particular taste for the night life. One night in Indonesia he was out partying when one of the girls overdosed on some heavy 'shit'. They hurried her to the hospital and fortunately she was saved. But while waiting outside and smoking, he felt an overwhelming sense of shame and confusion, wondering who he is actually, why is he here and what is his purpose, and oh boy, what if the girl actually dies? Musing sullenly about his present circumstances, a cat walked by and he found himself asking, "Oh my God! Will this be the last cat I shall ever see in my life?!" He hurried off to find a mosque and found a small one nearby, but it was closed. He climbed over the fence anyway, completed his ablutions (wuduq - physical and spiritual cleansing with water pre-prayers) and started praying, all the time asking God to allow him to complete the prayers, beseeching God not to take away his life before he can complete each recitation, gesture and movement in his prayers. Now in hindsight, I think he was a little OD-ed himself.

I don't think you need to do serious drugs to OD. People can overdose and lose themselves in anything. It is wise to take everything in moderation. Perhaps even in what people consider to be the pursuit for spiritual excellence. After all... 'excellence' and 'spiritual' by whose definition? Find a spiritual master, become a pupil (a good one, not like me!) and you will not have to travel your path alone. You need not face the Enemy alone...

136. The Enemy

Wine for the mind,

Ghouls and wraiths,

Honey for money,

Face and faith,

Whatever your passion,

He has your poison.

May you have a moderately satisfying day, sunshine.

The Eagles of the Kaaba.

Pax Taufiqa.

An Intermission to the Prose of Ramadhan - Rabia, Auntie Nab, My Mother and Father

Before I left for my pilgrimage (umrah) last March I jotted down a quick postie about the famous Sufi saint, a woman by the name of Rabi'ah al-'Adawiyah - Earlier Posting entitled "Auntie Nab, Rabia & Salman in Jerusalem". In the same post, I also wrote about my Auntie Nab, a person in my life of immense importance. For when my father was doing his Senior Cambridge exams in the Malay College Kuala Kangsar, my mother was the second youngest daughter of Haji Hashim, the chief clerk of the college. My mother was a go-getter from the word go, literally. She asked Auntie Nab, for they were friends, as to which of the boys in the six form was the smartest. And Auntie Nab listed down my father as a likely suspect. My father was a nerd you see, before the word was invented. I guess in the old days you would call him a bookworm. Excellent in mathematics and english, and a diligent student.

Well, to cut the story short, Auntie Nab arranged and matched my father and mother together. From whose union was sprung three unlikely boys by the names of Zahurein, Saiful and the sinner. Auntie Nab has always been a part of my life, being such an old and dear friend of both my parents. My mum's other friends may be a little reticent of my father, being the dour and brooding presence that he is. But not Auntie Nab. In her gravely voice she would admonish my father for whatever contratemp or weakness that she felt he exhibited. Not many people can do that to my dad. She was able to do it because she knew my father better than any other of my mum's wide clique. Zainab was my father's college mate, you see. The only girl in an all-boys school, and if I am not mistaken, the first girl ever to be admitted into the famous college. I guess the authorities found this girl from the sleepy town of Taiping simply too intelligent to deny her a place, despite being of the wrong sex.

After my mother's death, I remember spending some time with her talking about things. And it was in one of those, now all too few conversations, that she spoke of Rabia and her fondness for the female saint. She asked me that if I were to find any book on Rabia to get it for her. I never did, not that I recall finding one. But I always thought that I would see her again, you see, and get her that darn book. Now this shall never come to pass.

I am just told by my father that Auntie Nab passed away yesterday in Melbourne, Australia.

I am a little sad. My father didn't talk much over dinner and he looked sad too. But I am happy that my mother shall have one of her greatest friends with her now. And really, Auntie Nab can ask Rabia directly all she ever wanted to know about the female Sufi saint. I have no doubt they shall have a lot to talk about. May God bless her beautiful soul and cherish Auntie Nab in the Light of the Prophet and all his Saints.

wa min Allah at-taufiq.

Postscript: As I write this, my dear friend Ariffin, who is presently performing his pilgrimage in Mecca is praying in front of the holy Kaaba for Auntie Nab and her safe deliverance into the loving embrace of God. I am a sinner, you see. But for some unaccountable reason, God has ensured that I would at least have some friends with better and more direct connection with Him. God is Most Curious that way. I think Auntie Nab, who was a particularly curious person too, would fall in love with God again and again. Of that I have no doubt.

The Sinner & the Phoenix - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 19

THE FIREBIRD. The mythical firebird known as the Phoenix exists in perhaps all great civilizations across the globe. This flaming pigoen appears in Persian, Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Japanese and Chinese lore. This bird is like the dragon (and also the Green Man) who appears to make their appearances in the most unlikely (and unconnected) of folklores and traditional beliefs. Where there is smoke there is fire they say (well, unless its dry ice!). But we are not here to delve into the story of the mythical Phoenix, interesting as it may be. For you see, during his pilgrimage the sinner was accompanied by his very own Phoenix too, albeit of the wooden sort. Below is a picture of my own firebird (sans beak)...KING OF SAINTS. I purchased my Phoenix walking stick from my good buddy Ahmad Alatas from Indonesia. I asked him what sorta bird whose head crowns the cane. He said it was the Rajawali bird. In Malay that means the King of Saints (or the Saint King). I chuckled thinking that I would need all the help I can get as I begin my pilgrimage, and what better help for a sinner than a saint? And a King of Saints at that! Later, I found out that Rajawali is the Malay name for the mythical Phoenix.

BROKEN BEAK. Alas, even before arriving in Jerusalem I must have accidentally dropped my Phoenix, and a bit of the upper beak was broken. Distraught (and rather tired) I resolved to just dump the bally thing in Queen Alia Airport, Jordan. But my buddy, Ariffin, advised me not to, and to at least keep it until we reach Medina. There, he said, you can leave it at Masjid Nabawi (the Prophet's Mosque). Reluctantly, I agreed.

And so my Phoenix accompanied me all day and night for the entire 14 days of my pilgrimage. It followed me into the Masjidil Aqsa and Rabia's shrine in Jerusalem, Moses's shrine along the way to Jericho, to the Prophet's Raudah (Garden) in the Masjid Nabawi in Medina, and finally, when I performed the tawaf (the 7 circumambulation around the Holy Kaaba, Mecca), it was there with me, my support and constant companion. Rarely was I ever without my Phoenix. And rarely did I not drop it, so that when it came to the last day in Mecca a friend of mine suggested, "Taufiq, if we stay just a couple more days here, I reckon not only will your bird be beakless, it will be headless." And I think he is right.

I HIT SOMEONE IN FRONT OF THE HOLY KAABA. Well, I never did leave the cane in Masjid Nabawi. I have grown too fond of its ugly and broken beak, and the crease and carving of its head have become familiar in my hands. Initially, I was worried that perhaps the guards in the two great mosques in Medina and Mecca might not take kindly to a pilgrim lugging a walking stick depicting an animal (in strict Wahabbi regulation - I do not think it is actually permissable). But nobody stopped me, nobody questioned me, even when I was raising the Phoenix's head high amongst the masses of pilgrims circumambulating the Holy Kaaba. I didn't want to accidentally hit someone's legs or body, you see - And this is the embarassing bit - because I did in fact hit someone's head - the head belonged to a poor Turkish lady, and I accidentally hit her when an idiot behind me nudged my elbow. Wait, wait... It wasn't a hard knock really, so don't judge me. Maybe it was a divine intervention because she was thinking some impure thoughts? Hehehe. Okaaay... I am just kidding!

Well, such is life. Go to the Holy Kaaba, and you get beaned by a sinner.

Have a nice day, sunshine.

Pax Taufiqa.

Into His Embrace I Fall, Dying in Someone Else's Dream

Into His Embrace I Fall
Muhammad is my master, my captain
And the messenger sent to me
By God to teach me about Love.
So his mecca is now my mecca,
His medina my medina,
His companions mine,
his family my family,
And his concerns
My concerns.

He is the root through which
I drink the strength of the earth
Beneath my feet,

He is the trunk and branch by which
I stretch my hands towards God,

He is the beautiful blooms
That are my children,

And when autumn comes
He is the leaves that
Blanket the earth,
Where I gently lay down my love,
All my kisses and sighs.

And when life ebbs
From my withered limbs,
It is into his embrace I fall,
Closing my eyes for the last time,
To the birds, to the trees and the skies.

On Thursday night, I took myself away from company and listened to music. I do not know why, but I started recalling all my friends, old and new that I made during my Umrah Pilgrimage. Accompanied by no one but Beyonce's song, Halo, I started to write the above prose. It was my first poem since I came back from the Holy Lands, about 1 month ago. I sent it out via sms to a couple of my companions on the pilgrimage. Some responded but others didn't, no doubt wondering, "What the...?" Hehehe.

One Friday morning I arrived in the office and Ani said that last night she dreamt I died. She said that in her dream, me and Ariffin came back from a meeting, and she saw that I looked very tired. The next thing, she was already at home when she received the news on her cellphone that alas, her boss have passed away. She said many people attended the funeral. I wonder who they were?

Compound of the Dome of the Rock, March 2011

We should live our lives to the fullest. After all, who knows when we might die... even in someone else's dream.

Have a perfectly lively Sabbath, sunshine. After 1 day of blogspot downtime, I am glad to be back.

Pax Taufiqa

Suleiman and Saladin in Medina - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 18

FOOD & FAG. On the 23rd March 2011, I was still in Medina, the City of the Prophet. That was the 3rd day of my pilgrimage and my cache of cigarettes was reaching dangerously low level. So I decided to walk the city to look for food and fags. Later that evening I came back, and I recounted the day's event in an sms to Heche (which I happily saved in my phone for prosperity). The sms told a story...

"I like wandering alone. Found myself at d other end (of the Masjid Nabawi - the Prophet's Mosque) at the clock tower, and behind one building was a open-air food court (It was full of pilgrims from Indonesia, Bangladesh and Pakistan as well as a large crowd of Kurds and Arabs). I had briani rice with chicken (wuu Huu!). Fella next to me was sulaiman from Kurdistan. I said, 'Me from Malaysia'...'Belorussia?' he responded. Hehehehe. We spoke about the geopolitical situation in Iran, Iraq and Turkey which surrounds his country. Also spoke at length about Salahuddin al-Ayubi (Saladin), conqueror of Jerusalem - who was a Kurdish, "just like me", Suleiman reminded me. And he spoke to me all in Kurdistan-arabic. 3 days in Medina and I am already multilingual... Hehehe. Oh, yes. He also said that he was a 'Qadiriya' sufi, and we both agreed that he was a 'dervish'. I don't know how he knew the word 'dervish' out of all the English vocabulary. After all, the only other English words I was able to discern from Suleiman was Yes, No and Okay. Hehehe."

HARAM! HARAM! Although successful in procuring food, the sinner however abjectly failed to find cigarettes - my shy inquiries often being rebuffed with a gruff "Haram! Haram!" (Forbidden! Forbidden!) reaction from the locals. "Lighten up, will you?", I asked churlishly in my head, walking away disappointed and slighted. (I know, pet. You worry about my smoking addiction. You gotta give me time, until then, I am not blind to the truth, that...)

150. Dunhill
You are blinded by the plumes of smoke
From the fire that you yourself stoke.

I HAVE A CUNNING PLAN... Only later did I confirm my worse fears - that although you are permitted to smoke in the Holy Land of Medina (and Mecca too), nobody is permitted to trade in the cancer stick within the holy sanctuary. So you can only legally buy a pack of Marlboro Light (my preferred nicotine plug) outside the Holy Land territory, which is about 25 minutes drive from the hotel. "Oh yeah?!" I mused, my fiendish mind already hatching a cunning plan to break Saudi law and find cigarettes before my last pack runs out. But that is a story for another posting, sunshine.

Had a sunny Sunday, sunshine?

Its broiling hot here in Kuala Lumpur.

Pax Taufiqa.

Mothers are just WOW - Following mine around Jerusalem

INTREPID MOTHER. Sometime in mid 1990s, I was vaguely aware that my mother went to Jerusalem. The fact that Malaysia and Israel has diplomatic relations, the fact that in our Passport, it specifically states that Israel (and North Korea back then) was one of only two countries in the world where we are not suppose to visit, did not stop her. Nor did I find it surprising that she would find her way to Jerusalem. I knew she was keen to visit the Holy City, so one way or the other, I expected my intrepid mother to figure her way to the Dome of the Rock, al-Aqsa Mosque and the Old City.

THE WAILING WALL. And she even ended up where I didn't, which was the Wailing Wall. If you recall in my posting on my trip to Jerusalem (I met a man in Jerusalem - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 13, CLICK HERE), I kinda ditch the group to walk around myself. They all managed to visit the Wailing Wall, sadly I didn't manage that. (You visited Jerusalem and didn't visit the Wailing Wall? You idiot!)

MOMS ARE WOW. My dear chocolate sunshine. Our mothers are our trailblazer. Indeed it is nigh impossible for us to even be around without the active participation of our mumsies for 9 months - bearing a load of love. This year I finally found myself retracing the steps of my mother in the Land of the Prophets. On a little pilgrimage, not to Medina and Mecca, but to find the little bit in me that is my Mother, the good part, the beautiful part. This was a journey planned long before - 41 years ago when my mother cradled me in her arms, and for the first time ever I looked into her eyes, thinking "Wow".

17. Haj II
O’ pilgrim,
Be aware of each heart beat.

Because your pilgrimage
To the Hidden Kaaba
Begun from the first moment
You were conceived in your mother’s womb.

Each fleeting moment of your days
Is a step in your pilgrimage,
That either brings you closer to
The Holy Precinct
Or draws you further away.

Happy pre-Mother's Day, sunshine.

Pax Taufiqa.

Jesus, Rabia, Moses and the Pigeons - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 14

JERUSALEM, WEDNESDAY 23RD MARCH 2011, 4AM. What do you do when you are up and wide awake at 4am in Jerusalem? What else can you do but wash your underwear? My sainted mother would have been so proud. Anyway it was difficult to return back to sleep, not when Arjuna was snoring like a buffalo in heat in the next bed. As light dawned upon a cold (very very cold) and rainy morning in the Old City, I wandered out to the balcony for a cigarette. While shivering and puffing in my towel, I noticed that just across the road was a lawyer's office, "R.M. BEDOUN ADVOCATE" (zoom in on above pic). It crossed my mind to pay a visit to my learned friend later in the morning, but alas our tour schedule did not permit it. I stamped out the cancer stick on a bed of flowers and went indoors to the warmth of the room and my friend's melodious snoring. I remember wondering that, if we both snored at the same sound frequency, whether we would actually cancel out each other's snore. I never found out the answer.

WARM MILK is an excellent beverage when you find yourself being whipped by a bracing cold breeze in wet wet Jerusalem. It appears that despite what Abu Ayob said (No rain at all this year), we Malaysians have brought our Malaysian weather to the Holy Land. We are rainmakers. You can do the same too. Just try washing your car. While sipping my white drink, my friends returned from morning prayers at the al-Aqsa (yes, Taufiq... there was something better to do then washing your underwear). Less than 5 minute later a group of French Catholics returned from their morning worship too (probably not in the al-Aqsa). I timidly ventured a bonjour, and the old bidies replied cheerfully back Bonjour!

WHERE IS THE BUS?! Ariffin, myself and Ijan (who looked like Genghiz Khan in his furry hat) out in the entrance of the Holy Land Hotel. Waiting and waiting (and waiting) for the tour bus to arrive. As it turned out, the bus arrived almost 2 hours late, thereby pushing our scheduled tour, already precariously hanging on the ledge, into the ravine of the impossible. It will have dire effect later when the bus had to cross the border and reach Queen Alia Airport, Amman by 6pm to catch our flight to Medina.

THE DIVINE ELEVATOR. We visited the Chapel of the Ascension (on the Mount of Olives), where Christians (some at least) believed that Jesus ascended to heaven after calming down his companions following the exaggerated news of his death. Right next to the Chapel was a surau (small mosque). The signs says it clearly I think, but Ariffin, being Ariffin, went in anyway. I was shy and only took pictures from the outside. Yup. I should have just gone in. The secret of a successful pilgrimage is knowing when to follow the rules and when to disobey them. But I always get mixed up.

Well, there you see it - the Chapel of the Ascension, or some calls it the Dome of the Ascension. Both Muslims and Christians frequent this spot, much like many other holy places in this amazing city. One faith would enter the Chapel, examine the inside and probably pray to God, then the next would enter and repeat just the same.

Probably the most celebrated feature of the Chapel is the reputed footprint of Jesus. I looked pretty closely, but I cannot see it. Well, try and zoom into the picture and see if you can trace the outline. Maybe you can do better than me.

I noticed a pair of pigeons in the ledge of the Chapel. It would be the first pair of thousands of pigeons which appear to inhabit all the holy places that I would soon to visit, ergo the Maqam of Moses, the Prophet's Mosque, and the Masjidil Haram in Mecca.

"Well...? Are they Muslims or Christians?" one pigeon asked the other, perched on their bird's eye view of our group. The other replied in pigeon talk, "I don't know, Earl. They look kinda the same from here..."

"Jesus? You are looking for him? And so is Herod and the Elders? Well, I think he went thataway..."

RABI'AH AL-'ADAWIYAH. Her maqam was just next door to the Chapel of the Ascension. (But before we continue, let us be clear that when we refer to 'maqam' it doesn't necessarily mean 'tomb' or 'grave'. For many maqams, it is essentially a place of significance of the dead Prophet or Saint. He or she perhaps prayed or even lived there for awhile during their sainted lives. It makes sense really, as maqam also means 'station'. So you can say that this Maqam of Rabia's is her Jerusalem Station. Where she is in fact actually (and finally) buried is in the knowledge of her Friend, God. Well, station, substation or shrine, we were very delighted to finally arrive at Rabia's maqam. Most did not stay long in the subterranean cavern, but myself, Saiful and Ariffin remained for awhile longer with the presence of this amazing female saint, who was so sought after by many, many male saints of her day. If you do find yourself on Mount Olive, remember to contact and make prior arrangements with the custodian family of the shrine. They hold the key to her maqam.

ON THE SLOPES OF THE MOUNT OF OLIVES is a famous Jewish cemetery. Believing Jews would love to be buried here as according to their faith, whoever is buried on this holy slopes shall be the first ones to be judged by God and ergo, not to dwell too long in limbo. Our guide informs us that it can cost as much as USD90,000 for a single plot here. But if what theJews believe is true, I think it is a worthwhile investment to avoid an eternity in limbo, don't you?

MAQAM OF MOSES. After taking pictures in the freezing rain, we finally left Jerusalem on our way to the Shrine of Moses. (I will use the term maqam and shrine interchangeably. Why? Because I can. Okay, no more back-talk). After about 45 minutes drive across a grey and brown desert, the highway passing by many construction sites (what the heck are they building in the middle of this desert wilderness?), we finally arrived at our destination. Moses's Shrine stood in a solitary building complex (small-ish) far from any human settlement. Outside, Arab traders were making brisk business in ice-cream, rosary beads and a camel ride - "This camel, is the grandchild of the grandchild of the grandchild of the 300th generation of a camel that Moses once rode!" Okay, I am making that up. But you must remember that Jerusalem and Palestine-Israel has been in the God-bothering pilgrims' guidebook for centuries.

I was shy with the memory of the fiery red-headed and red-bearded Prophet. After all, he was known to be a strict Prophet (and I am not using the term 'strict' lightly here). After meandering about the compound listlessly, finally I took courage and entered the surau.MOSES KALAMULLAH, PROPHET OF GOD. In the cosy green carpeted interior I pulled out my journal, full of prayers and messages for Prophets from my friends and family. I went through the wish list of my friend Shal the Longhair, my brother Zahurein, my second brother Saiful and lastly my auntie, Mak Ndak. Then I spoke a little, sharing my feeling of happiness to be here, my desire for a better future, about my hopes and dreams. I even spoke of my regrets and sadness. I complained about my weariness of spirit and body. I think I may have drifted to sleep, because next thing I remember was a gentle nudge from the Shrine's custodian. Everyone else have left the surau. I gathered up my cane and bag, said goodbye to whoever was listening and walked out again into the cold desert air. Outside I met, Arjuna and Saiful. They smiled at me, and then took the picture of me below. It was lovely. And yes, as I mentioned earlier, there were pigeons here too.

It was a lovely visit, sunshine.

Pax Taufiqa.

I met a man in Jerusalem - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 13

The Old City is a little decrepit and the modern scourge of graffiti decorates some of its walls and tunnels - The common signal of unemployment and disenfranchised youth in any city. In the ancient city of Jerusalem such signs are even more depressing. I see a disconnect between the youth in their standard American ghetto-rap attire and trainers, and the older men dressed in dapper Mediterranean style with their suits and leather shoes. But perhaps the generation gap is only superficial.

Old Jerusalem is always beautiful, and if not, at least mysterious. Where would this tunnel lead me to?

Jabba the Hut used to frequent this coffee shop. So the street was named after him.

I had 3 cups of expressos here. While sipping caffeine, I jotted this note down in my phone (I left my diary in the hotel room) - "Jaber coffee shop, drinking coffee n plain water. So cold dat i have to wear a hat. Everyone drinking coffee n playing cards... Nothing to eat here at all? Earlier prayed zohor at aqsa... Saw d dome of d rock... tel aviv. It must b d sandstone capital of d world. Looks like europe. Amazing green contrast d minute we cross from jordan to israel. No problem at ben gurion airport... Except for some israeli making a ruckus at one passport counter. Beautiful arab school kids just out, and damn if they dont look jewish..."

Seeing me alone, and undoubtedly a non-local (but how?), an elderly gentleman approached me and I invited him for a cuppa. His name was Abu Ayob and lived in a village not far from here. After light banter and another cup of coffee. He invited me to his home, "You can see the Dome and al-Aqsa from my house!" And indeed I could see them when later I found myself sipping tea with sage in his frontyard. To be honest, I was a little worried, going along with a complete stranger in Jerusalem. But I did anyway (what is a holiday, without a little risk). In the bus, the lesser civil crowd chucked a couple of candy wraps at the sinner, but Abu Ayob straighten them out pretty quick. And as I walked with him into his village, I felt good that I had him to escort me. In the bus later, I saw a boy throwing litter at a chicken. What is it about this place and throwing stuff at things/people? Again, I feel that the young people would benefit from an economic growth. But even the shops are selling some electrical products looking at least 5 years pass its sell-by date. It is clear that the continuing stalemate between the arabs and the Israel government is doing them no good.

He has 3 young sons and 2 elder daughters. The youngest, Abdullah was the most curious about the sinner, shyly peeping behind the door at me. I look at his young family (he must have married pretty late) and wondered what the future has in store for them. They appear to be like flotsam and jetsam, adrift in an arbitrary and ancient conflict. But this conflict is not as ancient as it appears to be. Oh no... I know that arabs, christians and jews lived in peace in this blessed land for hundreds of years before. something happened to change this. The effects of the fall of the Ottoman caliphate (I think it is wrong to call it an empire) is still reverberating here, and indeed, all over the world. It is strange, I mused, how even Muslims forget that the Caliphate expired only some 90 odd years ago, when the last Sultan in Istanbul abdicated and the Young Turks took over and banned the turban and made western suits mandatory.

O' Abdullah, where are you climbing to?

My newly found friend took me back to Herod's Gate. He refused, he said, to allow his wife and daughters to work in a Jewish household. And life was tough. "Such is the fate of people living in the vicinity of the Dome of the Rock and al-Aqsa", he said the Prophet once prophesised. Money is never enough too. Well, I am not sure, I thought to myself, that prohibiting your family from working with the jews is the best resolution to the problem. But then, I am not an arab, and I am not born here in Jerusalem. I have not tasted the painful edge under what they would call a foreign occupation. I asked him if the jews rode the bus I was in. No, he said. It is not prohibited, but they never do. It must be exhausting, living in this manner, I thought. And I could see it in the worried lines of his face his constant worry for his family. Many have given up and have migrated to the USA for a better future, becoming doctors and good American citizens. What America has gained, I fear, is an irreplaceable lost to Jerusalem.With that sad thought, I walked slowly back to my hotel, to wait for my group to return from their travel itinerary.

As I jot this down, I am wistful and miss Jerusalem terribly. I hope to visit her, and perhaps make acquaintance with Abu Ayob once again. Have a lovely day, sunshine. If you have not visited Jerusalem, you should. It is both glorious and sad.

Pax Taufiqa.

Afternoon at al-Aqsa - Umrah Pilgrimage Part 12

The courtyard of the Dome of the Rock was a garden of Olives. As I walked pass slowly (not in deference but in exhaustion and jetlag) I could see school children playing and ancient Arab women making their way to the Dome. As it turned out, there was a women's prayer and study circle going on in the Dome. But we were permitted in anyway since we came a pretty long distance to get here - They came all the way from malaysie...!

The Dome of the Rock.

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The Dome of Taufiq next to the Dome of the Rock. My Dome is growing bigger as my hairline fights a losing battle against my ever growing forehead. The Dome of the Rock, as far as I am aware is still the same size since the day it was completed by Caliph Abd al-Malik in 687 AD - about half a century after the passing of Muhammad, Prophet of God.

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I lost my group. But all these contratemps and happenstances mean little when I am resting my back against a column that's probably more than 1,000 years old. It makes you think, doesn't it? And it makes you hungry, yes? It doesn't? Well it did for me. By now, I was already conspiring to leave the others to wander around the city on my own. Rushing from one holy place to another is just not my thing. I need to feel the place.

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The al-Aqsa Mosque is very big and has a very high timber ceiling. During the zuhr (afternoon) prayers, the congregation was rather small, filling up only a small section of the mosque.

The al-Aqsa Mosque stands one level down from the Dome of the Rock. It has a dome too, which is grey in colour. The distance between the two holy sites must be about 200 plus metres, but both are contained within the same compound and surrouded by ancient sandstone walls. We saw a patrol of Israel soldiers pass by. Later, Saiful (a companion) mentioned to me that as these soldiers were entering into the holy prescint they saw him and greeted him with asalamualaikum, and not the normal hebrew shalom.

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From any angle, the Dome of the Rock draws your attention. Each stone step, each pillar, each golden leaf upon the Dome must have a story to tell. Where I fail, I hope that you, sunshine, will be able to visit the Dome one day and continue where I left off.

I did indeed leave the group after the prayers. WIth my aching feet and terminal lack of sleep, I simply could not go on. Little did I know that Jerusalem was not done with me yet, and the afternoon would end up with me meeting an old Arab gentleman by the name of Abu Ayob and a trip to a his village. But that is another story for tomorrow.

Thank you, sunshine, for listening to my wandering tale in the Land of the Prophets.

Pax Taufiqa.